Evil: Live
by thePhonyOversized
Summary: After failing to kill Dumbledore and narrowly escaping Hogwarts grounds that fateful night, Draco Malfoy must make a decision. Some say the good die young, but is being evil really what it takes to live? Rated T for language.
1. Today was the day

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor am I affiliated with it in any way.**

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><p>Summary: After failing to kill Dumbledore and narrowly escaping Hogwarts grounds that fateful night, Draco Malfoy must make a decision. Some say the good die young, but is being evil really what it takes to live?<p>

(the a/n is at the bottom)

_This story begins somewhere near the end of Half-Blood Prince._

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><p><em>Chapter One<em>

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><p>TODAY WAS THE DAY, and there was no escaping it. The only choice I had left was to swallow my pride and follow the orders I'd been given. I mean—all I had to do was kill Dumbledore right? Not that hard. I just needed to point my wand at him and shout '<em>Avada Kedavra!<em>' and it'd be all over . . .

Hell. Who was I kidding? Who in the bloody right mind would be stupid enough to think that killing Dumbledore would be easy? Albus Dumbledore wasn't just some random bloke someone could simply swoop in and kill like he was a bug. One of the greatest wizards of all time, surely, wouldn't go down without a fight.

I'd gone through too much trouble to give up now, though. That Vanishing Cabinet took too much time and effort _not_ to be put into good use. The Dark Lord probably wanted an audience to witness my success anyway . . . or maybe laugh at my blunder after watching it firsthand. No one could rule out the fact that I was more than just bloody scared—I was bloody _petrified_, so chickening out might be something I'd do, but since I didn't have a choice . . . Merlin, this was killing me.

I groped the sides of the sink and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I looked horrible. My hair was more than just tousled—it was a ruddy hippogriff's nest—and it was so bright, and platinum, it was pretty much just white. Did it always look like this? Dark circles stood out from under my eyes, and my lips were chapped and bleeding. All the color was gone from my face. I narrowed my eyes into slits as I tried to absorb this image. It wasn't easy. It was frightening seeing myself this way—white as a sheet, obviously lacking proper sleep and food, and pretty much a blatant cry for help. I might as well have spent a few, maybe ten years in Azkaban. That might have made this _new look_ of mine work.

I wiped my eyes once more, getting rid off any sign of weakness, or evidence that I'd been having doubts about this whole . . . _charade_.

"This is ridiculous," I told myself; trying to find that commanding voice I always used to torment everyone. "Get a grip! You call yourself a Death Eater? Merlin, you call yourself a _Malfoy_? Pathetic," I insulted myself in an attempt to get that swagger I was famed for back. I needed to get angry. I had to. Anger is what gave me nerve. I needed nerve. Especially for what was in store for me.

"Prove them wrong, Draco. Prove to them that you aren't just all bark, and that you've got more bite in you than they've got in a strand of their hair," I said bitterly. I could feel the anger and resentment coursing through my veins. I could feel the negativity . . . the thirst for approval and accomplishment welling up inside of me. "The Dark Lord chose _you_, and not any of them for this task. You—are—bloody—brilliant!" I threw in some pep talk in there just for the hell of it, I mean; I also needed a confidence boost. It was a very iffy thing, what I was going through. This was not something a wizard my age would normally go through. It was the chance of a lifetime. A blessing.

Merlin. Could I really pull this off?

My mind was racing. Doubts were drowning my thoughts, consuming it with everything that could go wrong. All my initial doubts were resurfacing, along with new ones I had just come up with during the walk from the loo to the Great Hall. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, their gazes burning, making it feel as if they could see right into my soul. It was as if they all somehow knew my dirty little secret. I laughed to myself. Ridiculous. There was no way in hell. The possibility, however, still gnawed at me. I felt trapped inside my own body. My whole being felt like an alien locked inside a shell, dying to escape . . . dying to get out.

"There's no backing out now, Draco," I told myself. "You, and only you, were given this chance. A chance any other Death Eater would have _killed_ for. Don't waste it."

I felt hostile. I shoved anyone who got in my way, and I told anyone, everyone, to shut up. I was not in the mood to deal with people right now. My eyes wandered until they met Snape's. I felt a shiver down my spine as he stared me down. I averted my gaze and thoughts started to fly in and out of my mind once more.

_Everything_, I thought to myself.

Everything. Every single event, every single word said, every single minute that passed by . . . they were all just leading up to one final event. They were all just waiting for that moment where I would be face-to-face with _him_, Dumbledore. My wand would be raised, my hands shaking, my target locked with nowhere else to go, and with no other choice but to accept the fate that was chosen for him.

I was surer, more than I'd ever been, that I was not ready for this—for any of this. It was all happening so fast . . . _too_ fast. I felt like time was leaving me behind to run after it. Impossible as it sounds, that's what was happening.

"Draco."

The sound of Snape's drawling voice snapped me out of it.

"It's almost time," he said.

I nodded. I felt a ridiculous kind of fear wash over me. I saw myself as a newborn cub released into the wild before I could even open my eyes. The anxiety was driving me mad, causing my thoughts to become absolutely ludicrous. No. Ludicrous was an understatement.

My hand flew inside my pocket, gripping the polished piece of hawthorn I would soon have to use as a murder weapon. A little smile flickered on my face as I pictured the unicorn, the very one that was generous enough to lend my wand its hair for power, seeing its pure magic being used for such an evil purpose. How ironic is it that unicorns, beings of compassion and healing, would have its power used for destruction and malevolence? It was outrageous.

I gripped my wand tighter, closing my eyes and mouthing the words I would later have no choice but to utter, all my thoughts and emotions recklessly abandoned.

_Avada Kedavra._

_ Avada Kedavra._

_ Avada _fucking_ Kedavra._

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><p><strong>REVIEW!<strong>

Now of course that was just a prologue and a little taste of the story, and I can assure you that the chapters to come will be a lot lengthier and filled with a lot more than this one. I actually got the idea for this story last year, but I didn't quite know how to write it out then. So I waited, read around a bit more, 'became another year wiser' (hahaha) and when I had felt inspired one particular afternoon, I finally decided to finish this chapter/prologue. My friend told me to go all out with the angst at the end, and so I followed. Hahaha.

This story is Draco-centric, and is basically what he had gone through after failing to kill Dumbledore up till the war. I remember when he reappeared in Deathly Hallows, described to look pretty deathly himself, I felt really sorry for him. And after having an epiphany regarding how "live" spelled backwards is "evil" and vice-versa, the plot for this story began to form in my mind. Most of the things I plan to write out are off my own imagination, but I do plan to weave it into what J.K. Rowling (the genius that she is) really wrote out. I basically want to fill in the gaps regarding Draco and what happened to him when he had disappeared.

I have most of it planned out, but most of them are tentative and still subject to change, so please review and tell me what you think. Your ideas and opinions are always welcome :)

Also, because I wanted to preserve the authenticity of the book within this story, I tried my best to use UK English, from the way the sentences are structured down to the spelling differences, but because I'm not really British, I'm bound to make mistakes and overlook a few of them no matter how many times I edit, so feel free to let me know if you've noticed any errors.

Sorry for the extremely long a/n. I just felt like putting an explanation. Hehe.

Sincerely - _Schoe B._ (:


	2. Now, Draco!

Thank you to the wonderful **PaperSky95** for bearing with me, as both a distracted writer and a rather inescapable friend. I don't know what I'd do without you!

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><p><em>Chapter Two<em>

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><p>"NOW, DRACO!" a voice bellowed near me. "Quickly!<p>

I tried to swallow the large lump that had formed in my throat. Merlin, what _was_ I waiting for? A miracle? A sign? Or maybe just something that could save me from doing this inconceivable act? No, Draco. Enough. I had to erase these kinds of thoughts from my mind. He could hear me. He would never forgive me if I failed him. Failing him would probably result in my death. He-who-must-not-be-named was always watching.

I raised my wand higher, trying to aim it, despite my incessant shaking, at the senile old man that stood before me. He was wandless, with only his feeble little words to defend him from his inevitable death. Yet I _still_ couldn't find the strength to murder the fool! This infuriated me to no end. It was another thing, in a very long list of things, stopping me from uttering the unforgiveable words of death. I felt the Dark Mark burning on my forearm. This was now or never.

"But I got this far, didn't I?" I said slowly, trying to brush off my anxiety. "They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here . . . and you're in my power . . . and I'm the one with the wand . . . You're at my mercy . . . " I said, trying to convince myself more than anyone that I had everything under control. But I was a fool.

"No, Draco," Dumbledore began to voice the words nagging me at the back off my mind. His voice was soft, as if he was trying to make it so only I could hear him. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing but a feeble, pathetic squeak came out. Even my voice was hopelessly afraid. I stared into the old man's . . . Dumbledore's eyes, and saw his pain. He knew he was going to die, I was sure of it, but . . . but . . . I felt my hand shake, almost giving amidst my nervousness. I forced myself to hold my wand tighter after it almost slipped through my fingers. Never mind. What good was wracking my brain for an answer I would never get? The point was—we had Dumbledore where we wanted him, and he wasn't doing anything (well, anything effective, to say the least) to stop us. It should have been smooth sailing right from that moment. But it wasn't. I still couldn't find the strength to_ kill_ him.

My mind flitted from the present to the past, where, ironically enough, I wasn't any better off. I saw the face of none other than Harry Potter, his wand raised at me. Is this what I looked like to Dumbledore? With my wand raised and ready to do unspeakable harm? I smirked. Potter saw me crying that time. _Crying_. The embarrassment and anger I felt while I was in that predicament fuelled an invisible force, which now influenced whether I would kill Dumbledore or not. The memory of almost _Crucio_-ing Harry Potter to oblivion caused me to grip my wand even tighter; to just kill off the man I knew was important to that dim-witted, half-blooded 'hero.' But the feeling of being cursed myself. That awful thought of having blood spill through places I've never been hurt before. The feeling of pain so intense that I had gone numb . . . the lingering memory of _Sectumsempra_ . . . it sent a shiver down my spine. Could I really inflict that much pain on another human being, having experienced it firsthand? But no, this was a different kind of pain. It would never linger—it would just end.

My memory found the words Dumbledore had told me to ease the pain just moments ago. _I could be safe_, I thought. _My mother could be safe. They wouldn't come after me. They'd think I was dead . . ._

_ "Draco, you are not a killer."_ Dumbledore's words pierced me. What right did he have to console me? He was nothing to me. He was nothing to the cause I was shedding my own blood for.

_But he was something to Voldemort, which is why he has to go._ A voice plagued me at the back of my mind.

I was consumed by my own thoughts, engulfed by words only I could hear. Surprisingly, everyone else just happened around me, almost like they were on mute. I knew they were all arguing, shouting, though. Some were urging me to just get it over with already. Others were not as selfless. They were begging for the limelight, coercing those sworn to protect me that _they _were right for the job, not me. But it was _me_ that was chosen, _me_ of all his most loyal Death Eaters. Me. _Why me?_

Clearly, I was not in the right mind. I had surrounded myself with murderers, criminals, and psychopaths—hell; I was even working with a bloody (and clearly very mental) werewolf! I was one of them. I had clearly gone mad. But the real question shouldn't be whether I was in the right mind or not, it should've been, _was I in the wrong enough mind to be able do this?_

A voice brought me back to the hellish world of the present. A voice that I never thought . . . I never _wanted_ to hear in my entire life.

"Severus . . . " Dumbledore began to beg. Anger was bursting inside of me, burning hotter than ever. "Severus, please . . . " I felt my eyes watering. I wanted to punch the old git, tell him to stop begging. He had to stop. Someone, please, just make it stop.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

I felt my knees start to buckle just as Snape seized my scruff and pushed me out of the doors. I knew I wanted it to stop, but Merlin, I wasn't so sure if I wanted it to end _this _way. Every event played in my mind over and over again like a film—clear, vivid, and so surreal I couldn't believe it actually happened. I was almost tempted to pinch my own arm to see if I was dreaming, but I didn't have to. I knew it was all-real. It was the inescapable reality I trapped myself in. And now, there was no way I could escape it. I had already failed to assassinate Dumbledore—fulfilling everyone's expectation that a "child" couldn't have managed it to begin with. I was sixteen, I definitely _wasn't_ a child, but bloody hell—I _still _couldn't murder the man.

Bloody ol' Snape had to step in and kill him for me. Brilliant. Ruddy brilliant. Jesus, I didn't need a babysitter looking after me all the time.

Given the present circumstances, however, and the fact that I was gasping for dear air, and somehow lost the ability to stand by myself, it was a great relief to have somebody steering me away from trouble. We manoeuvred through the havoc of people maniacally shooting curses and hexes at each other left and right. Snape snaked through everybody with such swift movements it was as if he knew every move each person would do next, therefore adjusting his own to avoid any and every form of physical contact.

Snape jerked my arm forward, urging me to go faster as we sprinted. I was quickly running out of breath and deathly afraid that I might drop unconscious any second from now. But I didn't stop running. I attempted to turn my head and look at the scene behind us, but Snape foresaw my actions and grabbed my scruff as we ran.

"Don't—look—back," he whispered into my ear and propelled me forward. It took all my willpower not to glance at what was happening behind us. Despite not seeing it firsthand, however, I knew what was happening. I could hear it—the sounds of spells ricocheting the walls, people falling, bones cracking . . .

And a familiar voice I expected to hear from the very beginning. Harry Potter was hot on our tracks, probably running after us with all his might. I'll bet that somehow, that pesky half-blood saw everything. He saw me that time at the toilet, after all. I had the strongest feeling that I hadn't been the only one with dirty little secrets.

Aside from Potter, I could hear the familiar shouts of Rowle close behind us. He was shouting curses like a madman. I smiled. The possibility of Potter catching up to us seemed very minimal now. He could never catch up to us with Rowle, gigantic Rowle, in his way.

_But what if Potter did manage to catch us? What if, by some miracle, he does manage to stop us? What if . . ._

Stop it, Draco! I reprimanded myself as my expression shifted once more. I could feel the smile being wiped of my face and replaced instead with distress. It was as if I was a little boy once again, and I lost my mother in a huge throng of people in Diagon Alley. Inside, I wanted to do what a lost little boy did instinctively—I wanted to bawl my eyes out, and pray to see my mother again. Hell, hell, bloody hell, _would_ I be able to see my mum again?

The single, most terrifying feeling nagging me however was not if Potter caught us. It was the fact that, probably because of some weird twisted spell or whatnot—maybe I'd really just gone mad because of everything, but I _wanted_ Potter to stop us. If he stopped us, the consequences would be less severe. The situation would definitely be more bearable.

Behind us, Potter was struggling to keep up. He was bellowing curses, practically screaming them. The big oaf, Hagrid, somehow got his house set on fire, and was shouting, using very colourful language to curse at the probable perpetrator. Another distraction to keep Potter occupied.

I had spoken too soon.

Potter had ignored the half-giant's dilemma and aimed a _Stupefy_ at us, narrowly missing Snape's head. I looked at Snape, who looked absolutely livid. His eyes had grown bloodshot, and the veins were popping out of his neck. He muttered, "He wouldn't _dare_," to himself over and over again. I knew he was talking about Potter. He turned to me, and for a second I thought he was going to take all his anger out on me. I inched away from him, trying to shield myself in the least obvious manner possible.

I had spoken too soon once again.

"_Run, Draco!_" he pushed me forward, hastily pointing to the gates as he ordered me to run—without looking back—and Apparate once I was out of school grounds. I bolted for it as soon as he finished, but—despite his warning about not looking back—I saw him turn and face Potter, and actually witness Potter, the so-called 'Boy Who Lived,' attempt to _Crucio_ Snape, good ol' Professor Snape. I sniggered before I continued sprinting towards the gates. Potter was about to use an Unforgivable. Merlin, this day was just _filled_ with surprises.

I could hear Snape's voice in the distance, shouting at Potter at full force. Why couldn't I hear the latter? Was he dead? Had Snape killed him? Jesus, please, _no_. But he wouldn't. Not behind the Dark Lord's back. Bloody hell, I was actually worried about Harry Potter's dear life. I was surer than ever that I'd gone mental.

The moment I surpassed Hogwarts grounds, despite my better judgment, I looked back to assess the damage. The scene that unfolded before me was . . . gruesome. It was complete chaos. I could see different coloured lights—probably from the different curses and hexes being casted all over the place. Certain parts of the wall, just around the Astronomy Tower though, were breaking apart. Snape and Potter were nowhere in sight. Neither was the rest of my fellow Death Eaters. Merlin, now that's something, _my fellow Death Eaters_. Something had seriously gone sour in my life.

I only had a few seconds to take the images in, before I pictured something else entirely. I focused all my attention to getting back home to Malfoy Manor, where everybody else was waiting for me to report the damage. I closed my eyes and felt my stomach do a back flip. Suddenly, the world was spinning around me and I was sucked into a black hole, and then spat out once again a second later with a loud _crack_.

Coming home had never been so bittersweet. The first piece of furniture I saw when I had opened my eyes was a mirror, one of the oldest one in the house. The gold frame around it was as shiny as ever, but I could see its true age through the many tiny spots on the mirror itself. The most surprising thing in that mirror, however, was not its sumptuous design and lavish decoration, or its age, but the image it was reflecting.

I saw Draco Malfoy at his worst possible state yet. I looked like I was breaking down, hopelessly falling to pieces with each passing second. The black under my eyes had become more defined, as if I was punched on both eyes at full throttle. My skin was so pale I was afraid it would soon go see-through. My hair was stuck to my face because of my sweat. My clothes were muddied, burnt and tattered, and you could see some of the scars I bore from Potter's _Sectumpsempra_ through the holes. The scariest part of the entire image, however, was the fact that it was all-real, and the farthest thing from being just a really bad dream. I would never wake up from this eternal nightmare.

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><p><strong>REVIEW!<strong>

I rather enjoyed writing this chapter. I was able to insert some things actually written in the book, and it did prove to be a challenge as well since I wasn't as free to write it any way I wanted, since it had to correspond to the book as well as fill in the blanks, but it was still extremely fun. I hope I was able to write it successfully! :)

From - Schoe

PS. The premier of Deathly Hallows Part 2 is just around the corner! Are you all ready for this?


	3. Yaxley Snape

Thank you, again, to **PaperSky95**, as well as **1215rascal**, for helping me out!

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><p><em>Chapter Three<em>

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><p>"YAXLEY. SNAPE." I stiffened at the Dark Lord's snakelike voice.<p>

I looked up, as the last two Death Eaters arrived at the meeting. They looked like walking corpses under the pale light of the drawing room.

"You are very nearly late." The Dark Lord sat at the head of the table, not even looking up when they arrived. His reptilian features were somehow more defined under the influence of the firelight. The previously loud sound of the fire crackling seemed to soften as the Dark Lord spoke. Or it could have just been my imagination.

The Dark Lord smirked, and I nearly flinched when he faced us. He looked around the table, and when his eyes fell on me, it took more than my share of willpower to keep a calm face. Bloody hell, he was a monster. I had the oddest feeling in the world, especially when he looked at me. As if like a basilisk, his gaze would turn me into stone. Or I would just drop dead. The latter always remained a possibility in his presence. One wrong move could land you an _Avada Kedavra_. I chose to remain silent since it was the safest option. I did everything it took to stay alive.

The last few months had passed in a blur. Ever since my arrival back home that faithful night, all I did was exist. I woke up without a single sound, ate in silence, and went about my business in a similar fashion. The less words uttered, the surer I was that I would wake up the next day.

In a few weeks, I would have to go back to Hogwarts. I would have to go back and act like nothing was wrong, that I wasn't a Death Eater, that I never witnessed Dumbledore's murder firsthand because it should have been _me_ who killed him to begin with. During my time away, I didn't keep in contact with anybody—not Crabbe, not Goyle, nobody. I had planned to go on like that, hiding from the world and all its accusations. Until the day came when my mother reminded me that 'Yes, I still did have to go to school, murderer or not.'

Clearly, my whole sixth year was awful. I hated it. I hated it with such a passion that it was almost comparable to how much giants hated hygiene. Not only was I forced into an attempted assassination of the headmaster, I had to keep everything to myself. For months on end, I would cry myself to asleep. Yes, I sounded absolutely pathetic. But bloody hell, who _wouldn't_ have done the same had they been put into my situation? I had to kill in order to live. I had to kill so my _family_ could live. The stakes were high—higher than they could ever get.

Everything that happened had become vague, blurry, and seemingly distant memories. Maybe I had blocked it out of my memory, or maybe the trauma had caused me to forget, but I only had bits and pieces in my mind. I could put them all together, definitely, I just chose not to. It was easier to exist that way.

"What say you, Draco?" I almost jumped when the Dark Lord addressed me. His voice pierced through the noise that had accumulated during the meeting. Merlin, did he know what I was thinking about? Or had I been talking out loud without knowing it?

His mouth curved into a smirk. Jesus, this is it, I'm _dead_. "Will you babysit the cubs?" he asked me. His laugh—a gut wrenching laugh that made my skin crawl—resonated maliciously through the drawing room. I looked at my father, but he purposely avoided my gaze and looked intently at his hands twisted over his lap. What a father—what a _bloody_ great father I have. I turned to my mother, whom I found already looking at me. She stared into my eyes, her eyes holding such warmth and love—feelings she reserved for only me, her beloved son. As if she had only twitched, she shook her head, her eyes showing a twinge of the guilt and fear she had been trying to hide, before turning away.

"Enough." The silence that followed soon after scared me. It made me feel like the room was empty, and that I was just hallucinating that there were people around me. I shivered, the thought of it just being the Dark Lord and myself alone in a room only filled with people in my mind . . . it was as if Death was just a word away from taking me altogether.

"Enough . . . " I woke up muttering to myself. I was sweating bullets, and I was alone in the room. I was only a day away from Hogwarts—only a day away from studying, and attending annoying classes.

"_Severus . . . please . . . _" a mixture of voices echoed in my brain, infuriating voices begging for the same thing. Merlin, if death could be stopped with just a few words, if it was really _that_ easy, I would have no reason to fear the Dark Lord. Nobody has any reason to. But that wasn't the case. Death could be brought with just two simple words, but it could not be stopped the same way. It comes, whether you want it to or not.

"Those fucking blood-traitor teachers deserved what they got, they deserved to die!" I shouted, tears uncontrollably streaming down my eyes. I slammed a fist on my bed, and covered my face. "I'm pathetic. Bloody pathetic."

"Me don't think Master Draco's pathetic."

I jumped back, startled by the tiny voice that had spoken to me so suddenly. I looked down from my bed and saw green.

"_AHHHHHH!__" _My scream mirrored that of another in my memories. Distraught voices began to play in my head once again, begging the same person—Severus Snape—to save them from death.

Before I knew it, I was breathing heavily, my eyes widened in fear, and my heartbeat louder than my own thoughts. You could not longer see my tears as they dripped from my eyes as they had merged with the drops of sweat trickling down my face. The memories were too fresh. I couldn't shut them out.

"Is Master Draco alright?"

I stared back down and saw a tiny house elf holding up one of my dress robes. The green one made of silk my mother had bought me last Christmas.

"You bloody house-elf!" I shouted, smacking the house-elf as hard as I could. I directed all my emotions—anger, confusion, depression, and_ fear_—the ones I could not openly express, towards the tiny house-elf. I watched as it flew into a nearby closet because of the impact. I was torn between feeling sorry for the creature, as it didn't do anything but try to hand me back my robes, or satisfaction that this lowly _thing_ deserved to be mistreated.

The house-elf scrambled back up, still clutching onto my robes. It scampered back to me, apparently hell-bent on returning my robes. I yanked it from its grasp, disgusted by its touch, and ashamed of my actions. "What's your name?" I demanded. All house-elves had the same stupid sounding names, so Merlin knows why I even asked. _Dobby, Winky, Sparkly, Twinkly, Weezy, Dopey_—they all sounded the same.

"Spiffy, Master Draco," it squeaked. I scoffed. This one wasn't an exception.

"Whatever." I waved my towards it dismissively, not even bothering to look at it. I turned around. "Just go," I said, my back facing it. I could hear it scurrying to be out of my sight.

"Thank you," I whispered as inaudibly as I could before I heard the door close.

Taking a deep breath, I waited a few seconds before I returned to my bed. My robes were sprawled over my bed, crumpling over the sheets. And then I noticed something odd—a part of the robes was flat, and had taken the shape of something rectangular. I threw the robes out of my way and found a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ hidden beneath them. This was clearly that ruddy house-elf's doing—a clear act of disobedience. I would make it regret this later.

Despite my earlier decision of staying ignorant for my safety, my curiosity got the best of me. I unfolded the _Daily Prophet_ and my eyes widened as one particular article struck me. "Dumbledore, the truth at last?" I muttered to myself. "But then this is . . . " I began to skim through the newspaper, crumpling it furiously as I read each headline. This was an old copy of the _Daily Prophet_, the one published almost immediately after Dumbledore's death. "What is that fucking elf playing at?" I shouted, flinging the paper away. "Spiffy" was going to regret that dearly.

I heard a knock on the door. I stared at it and waited a bit before I stood up and answered it. I might've just imagined it. Two more knocks followed. Anger surged through my veins and I clenched my fists. I stormed to the door, prepared to _Crucio_ that fucking elf into oblivion. I yanked the door open, hearing a screw drop from the rusting hinges.

"You—" I stopped midway through my insult, biting my tongue as I saw it had been my mother, who had become dishevelled these past few and painfully dreadful months, knocking on the door. Her lips were pursed and she stared at the wand I'd drawn in preparation for torturing the elf with disdain. I lowered it back into my pocket and relaxed my shoulders. My brows were furrowed, but I broke into an extremely awkward smile at the sight of her. Mum had always been good company, obviously better than a house-elf I would later behead.

"M-mother," I stammered.

"Good morning, Draco," she said, brushing past me and taking a seat on my bed. I closed the door and followed her. I stood in front of her, wanting to be able to pace back and forth during our sudden conversation. I saw mother grip the part of her skirt on her lap as she looked at me. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she had forgotten how to speak. Well, I guess she wasn't the bearer of good news.

"You needed to tell me something, mother?" I asked, trying to get her to speak. I wanted to get over it already, especially if it was going to be bad news again. I'd just have to deal with it, like everything else in the very long list of things that had gone wrong in my life.

"Yes, well," she spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper. "About tomorrow . . . " she stopped speaking. She cleared her throat, but remained silent.

"Tomorrow, I'm going back to Hogwarts," I informed her.

"I know," she told me. "You're going back," she echoed, as if trying to get the message to sink in. I guessed it was more for her benefit than mine.

"I'm going to be alright," I told her, taking a seat next to her finally.

"I know, Draco, I know," she repeated. She took my hands in hers and she choked back tears. "I know you'll be okay. You've grown up so much." She laughed, and I knew she was crying now. "But, please, just stay out of trouble. Don't tell anybody anything." She pauses. "Promise me that when you're in school, you'll pretend like none of this is happening."

"I—" I began to say, but find that I can't continue saying the rest of it. "I—" I tried again, but the 'promise' just wouldn't come out. "I . . . I can't promise you, Mum, you know that."

She tried to choke back more tears, but failed. Although she kept her head down, I could still see her face. She was trying to smile, despite the tears streaming down. I gripped her hands tighter, trying to reassure her. "I wish you didn't have to go. I get so worried just thinking about—" she couldn't finish her sentence as more tears came, even faster than before.

"I would be in more danger staying here," I told her. I sure hoped what I was saying turned out to be true. "Snape wouldn't let me die."

"Severus!" she screeched, her hands tightened around mine for a few seconds before she loosened them and slouched her shoulders. She let go of my hands and stood up. I tried to do the same, but my knees buckled and I fell back down on the bed.

She took one last look at me before heading to the door. She glanced around the room before she left, and noticed the crumpled up copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that had angered me only moments ago. She rushed over towards it and picked it up. She didn't have to skim through it to know what it was about.

She stood in front of me. "Did you read this?" she asked me.

I froze, not knowing whether I should lie or just come out with it. I pursed my lips and nodded. To my surprise, she smiled. She pocketed the newspaper and whispered, "I was looking for it a while ago. I'd forgotten that I'd given it to the elf." And then she left the room without another word.

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><p><strong>REVIEW!<strong>

I enjoyed writing this chapter. :) Only the beginning included canon parts from the book, and I enjoyed the freedom I had at the near-end. I loved writing his little mishap with Spiffy the house-elf! Haha.

Sincerely - Schoe.

PS. I would like to shout-out to **SlytherinxGryffindor**!


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